The gaze in Emanuel’s eyes made her feel so invaluable. Like a painting at the dollar store that held no worth. Why did she have to be the bearer of this burden? Daisy could’ve saved her from this. Painfully, she condoned it, making sure to give her pep talks on how to flirt.
This time, Irish blew softly, and Emanuel threw the dice on the table.
“That’s what I’m talking about?” he cheered, collecting the dice again.
“Damn, she really is your good luck charm, huh?” Twan noted, looking Irish up and down.
“I’m tellin’ you, cuh. I don't leave home without her,” Emanuel bragged.
“Well, shit.” Twan slid closer to where she stood. “You sharing?”
“If you wanna have a conversation with her, be my guest.”
Irish cut her eyes at Emanuel as Twan softly grabbed her hand.
“What’s your name, baby?”
“Tisha,” Emanuel lied.
“Tisha, huh?” Twan repeated, gazing into her eyes.
If Irish wasn’t so disgusted, she would’ve appreciated his youthful good looks. He was caramel toned with golden brown eyes and juicy lips. He didn’t have much facial hair except for a thin mustache that posed over his lips.
“Come to the bar with me.”
Irish immediately looked at Emanuel, who was too busy collecting chips.
“Come on, baby. I won’t bite.”
It felt as if Emanuel had ignored her on purpose. Twan grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the table. All creepy eyes were on her as they journeyed to the bar.
“What you want to drink?” he asked her.
Not knowing what to say, she replied, “A Sprite.”
“A Sprite?” His eyebrows pinched. “You don't want no real drink?”
“No, a Sprite is fine.”
Twan must've thought she was an adult by his reaction. Irish would’ve corrected him, but Daisy told her not to tell any of her personal business, especially her age.
“Alright. A Sprite it is.”
Twan ordered her soda and him a brown drink. When the bartender passed it to him, he handed the Sprite to her.
“Let’s go over here.”
She was frozen in her stance as he pulled her with his hand. Noticing her not budging, he looked back, wearing a perplexed expression.
“What’s wrong, baby? We only going over here.” He pointed to a booth.
Irish glanced back at Emanuel, who was so deep in his game he hadn’t noticed her absence. Unwillingly, she followed Twan to the booth and slid in. She was surprised when he sat next to her rather than across from her.
“It’s not every day that I come across someone as bad as you. You so fine with those freckles and red hair. I ain't never seen nobody that look like you. This your real hair color?” he asked, touching her tresses.
Irish bobbed her head.
“Damn, love, why you so tensed? I know you ain't trying to respect that old-ass nigga you came here with.”
